


The Screams from the Forest

by iulia_florentina



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Death, Feelings, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Neck Kissing, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24308200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iulia_florentina/pseuds/iulia_florentina
Summary: Whatever you might think, Jaskier is no damsel in distress. He knows how to use a sword. He also has the most brilliant ideas to attract danger. You might not know that, because Geralt also didn't. And when the bard puts himself in harms way while the Witcher can do nothing more than watch as all turns into blood and sweat. That very night, as no sound disturbed the silence, Geralt can't truly believe he has the bard in his arms like that.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 185





	The Screams from the Forest

The people of the village were gathered around the table, staring breathless at the man who was wiggling his hands theatrically in his try to interpret the events he witnessed. There were persistent gasps and soft moans of imaginary pain and grimaced that somehow had sound in the old tavern.

Jaskier was sitting next to the man with his book of songs opened on the table, trying his best to get everything the man said. It was not very often that people witnessed Geralt’s fights and when someone had the unfortunate luck to, Jaskier was the first to ask about what they saw. Writing song about the Witcher’s adventured was kind of difficult when he could not be there. The bard gave up a long time to ask Geralt after he came back. He never told Jaskier anything and if he did was so blank and dry, Jaskier could not write an entire song with just two words. He tried endlessly to convince Geralt to let him come.

“I’ll stay with Roach. Someone has to keep her company while you battle.”

Geralt grunted and turned his head away. “Roach can stay at the stables.”

“But you can’t walk that far.” Jaskier said, trying not to grimace at his pathetic comeback.

Geralt only threw him an empty look then turned back around.

When Jaskier turned the page of his book, the man suddenly stopped, lowered his hands along with his gaze. The bard looked around then back at him, not fully understanding was stopped him.

The man took a deep breath and shook his head. “And then he died.”

The crowd gasped in unison and for some reason the people close to their table took a step back. Jaskier put down his pen and closed the book. The man watched him as he stand up and slowly beginning to walk to the door. When he turned around, the whole tavern was watching him. The bard smiled.

“He’s not dead.” He said and exited the tavern.

Roach was standing outside, warding off the flies that buzzed around her with her tail. Jaskier approached her and smiled, raising his hand to pet her mane.

“Don’t touch Roach.”

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier turned around to see Geralt walking toward them dripping wet, covered in mud all the way up to his chin. He had his sword in a hand and the head of the creature in the other hand.

“Where’s the farmer?”

Jaskier pointed to the tavern door. “Inside.” He said and followed the Witcher with his eyes until the door closed behind him, then turned back to the horse.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” The bard said and caressed its muzzle. Roached puffed through its nose and pushed further into Jaskier hand.

When he heard the door open, Jaskier let his hand fall at his side. Geralt put the little bag with coins inside Roach’s bags and took its strings, heading to the inn. Jaskier followed him close behind, silently looking through his book.

The inn keeper threw them an ugly look as they walked up to the room. As soon as Jaskier closed the door, the Witcher threw his sword near the fireplace and proceeded to take off his armor. Not wasting any time, Jaskier dropped the lute and book on the bed and walked to the bathtub in which he began mixing oils. Before he could be done, Geralt stepped in and sank underneath the water which instantly colored black. The bard took the soap and waited for Geralt to resurface so he could wash his hair.

As he was washing the last trace of mud from the Witcher’s hair, Jaskier noticed blood dripping on Geralt neck. With a frown, the bard pulled all the white hair up and found the source of the bleeding. Behind Geralt’s left ear it was a big hole. The skin was punched through and the flesh had a slight color of green. If that wasn’t bad enough, Jaskier could’ve sworn that he was seeing the bone.

“Geralt,” he said in a whisper. When Geralt didn’t react, Jaskier swallowed and called his name again, this time louder.

“Hmm.”

“Does your left ear hurt?”

Geralt hummed again.

“Cover your right ear for a little, please,” Jaskier said and took his hand out of the Witcher’s hair.

“Why?” Geralt asked and looked at him with a frown.

“Just do it.” Jaskier insisted with a look of worry in his eyes.

Geralt searched his face for a moment, then placed his hand against his ear.

Jaskier took a deep breath and though of what to say. If his theory was correct, Geralt was deaf of one ear and he won’t be able to hear him. If not, what he was about to say would be embarrassing.

“I like the color of your eyes.” The bard said and waited, holding his breath.

The Witcher frowned, then his face relaxed and his hand fell into the water, his mouth twitching. “Fuck.”

Jaskier kneeled near the tub. “Did you hear what I said?” Geralt shook his head. “What happened back there?”

Geralt grunted, then spoke as he place a finger behind his ear where the wound was. “It’s a claw mark. I must’ve not feel it because of the potions I took before.”

“Can you heal?”

Geralt nodded. “I will take a while though.”

Feeling himself breath, Jaskier stood up, his knees protesting, and handed Geralt a towel. “I’ll go down to get some food.”

Once they ate, Jaskier told Geralt he will be downstairs performing for the night. Geralt only gave him a nod and turn back to cleaning his swords. There were not many people that night, but Jaskier tried to get as much as he could from what he had. He didn’t make much, but it was better than nothing. The bard walked back to the room late in the night and found Geralt asleep on the edge side of the bed. Too tired to argue again about Geralt and his stubbornness to always have the bard sleep between him and the wall, Jaskier put his lute on the table near the window and snuggled into bed as careful as he could not to wake up the Witcher.

The first thing Jaskier noticed when he woke up was that he was too warm. The next was that he couldn’t feel right arm. Blinking his eyes open he got in the sight of Geralt shoulder. Jaskier’s arm was stuck under the Witcher and one of Geralt’s arms was thrown over his chest, emanating enormous heat. The Witcher was sleeping on his stomach, his head turned away from the bard.

Jaskier sighed and ran his free hand over his face, trying to wake up properly. “Geralt,” he said, but the Witcher didn’t wake. Jaskier called his name again and when Geralt still didn’t move, the bard sighed and pushed the Witcher’s arm off him. Only when Jaskier began pushing him so he could take his arm back, Geralt startled awake, turning his head to Jaskier.

“What?” he asked in a low voice.

“You’re sleeping on my arm.”

Geralt hummed and lifted long enough for the bard to take his arm back.

“You’re also burning up. Again.”

“I’m healing.” Geralt murmured.

“Yeah, I know.” Jaskier said and stood up, then put on his boots. “I’ll get breakfast.” He looked back at Geralt and the reddish skin of his back and neck. “And some medicine,” he added, stepping out of the room.

By noon Geralt was packed and ready to go. He was making another knot on Roach’s bag when Jaskier approached them.

“How’s your ear?”

“Better. Let’s go.”

Of course, Jaskier wanted to argue with that. Geralt skin had still a pinkish color and he was also sweating, his white hair getting stuck to his neck and jaw. But Jaskier also knew better than to press the matter. It did no good. So, he just followed Geralt and Roach out of the town and to the next one.

On their path, Jaskier focused on the notes he took the other day and by the time they reached the next village he had a pretty good start of a new song. He was about to ask Geralt what he thought so far of his new ballad, even though he knew the Witcher wouldn’t answer with more than a grunt, when a young boy, much younger than Jaskier approached Geralt as soon as the Witcher climbed off Roach.

“Are you a Witcher?” the boy asked.

Geralt hummed.

“We have… a situation. Can you help us. We’ll pay you.” The boy pleaded.

He had a big scar on his neck and one of his eyes wasn’t opening completely as the other one. The boy also seemed to breathe with great effort as if his lungs could no longer hold the air. He looked like trouble and if was any other day, Jaskier would’ve said nothing as he saw Geralt get his swords, but today was different.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, raising a hand to stop the Witcher. “Maybe it can wait a day.”

Geralt frowned. “Why? I’m fine.”

Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes. “You’re not fine. I can tell. Please, just wait a day. Maybe you’ll be better tomorrow.”

Geralt hummed and stepped back. Jaskier dropped his shoulders in defeat. “That’s what you’ll say tomorrow.” The Witcher said and began following the young boy further into the village.

Jaskier ran a hand over his face and swallowed his words. There was no point in calling after them. Feeling his feet ache, Jaskier turned to Roach who was also looking at him and nodded.

“Let’s find some food.” The bard said and gestured Roach to follow him, holding onto its strings.

The keeper of the inn Jaskier found was not very happy when he heard the bard was paying a room for a Witcher, but he quickly got over it when Jaskier told him about the boy Geralt was with. It seemed that all villages knew about the monster “little Jimmy” was fighting with. It appeared that little Jimmy was living alone at the edge of the village in a small cottage and that his chicken were eaten at night by some kind of big creature with glowing eyes.

“The other night little Jimmy tried to scare the thing away, but it turned out the creature isn’t afraid of fire. The healer said the boy could’ve died if the neighbors hadn’t heard his screams. It almost injured another man when he ran to help little Jimmy. The monster is good at sneaking up on its victims.”

From this point on Jaskier wasn’t listening to the other man anymore. His eyes zoomed out, his gaze fixed on the door, and all he could see was Geralt battling with the monster. In his imaginary scenario, it didn’t end well for the Witcher. All Jaskier could see was blood – a whole lot of blood. It wasn’t as if Jaskier didn’t believe Geralt could take care of himself, because he knew the Witcher could, but the bard also couldn’t keep his mind from wondering what if this time was different. What if Geralt didn’t come back that night? What if didn’t come back at all?

Fear creeped inside the bard’s throat. His heart was beating brutally hard and his hand began to trembled around the cup of ale. Jaskier could still vaguely hear the inn keeper talk, but it was he was hearing the voice come from behind a thick door.

It felt like hours before he could decide to do something other than stare at an old door. Tossing a few coins to the inn keeper, Jaskier stood up and walked out of the door. Outside it was near dawn and the wind began to blow cold. Stepping heavily down the streets, Jaskier untied Roach and pulled at her strings. He knew she was Geralt’s horse and she wasn’t going to be happy about the bard riding her, but Jaskier would rather take a pissed off horse over anything anytime of the day. To his surprise though, Roach did nothing more than puff heavily through her nose before letting her head loose for Jaskier to guide her through the village.

From the inn keeper story Jaskier vaguely knew where the little Jimmy’s house was. Only the east side village was bordered with the forest so that made it easier to find the old cottage. The first thing Jaskier noticed when he arrived was that the roof of the house had a big whole in one side and it seemed that the rest was about to collapse. The next thing he noticed was the ripped fence around the house and the white feathers that formed a path from the cottage to the feet of the forest. Taking a quick look back at the sun that was half gone behind the roofs of the village, Jaskier sighed and guided Roach between the trees of the forest.

After a good amount of time in which Jaskier found no sign of Geralt or the boy (or the creature), the bard began to slowly lose hope as the light of the day melted into the blackness of the night. He was about to turn back and seek help, when Roach snapped her head up and raised her ears. Without any warning, the horse started sprinting between the tree trunks, forcing Jaskier to hold tight onto her. When Roach stopped, they were near a lake that emanated a strong smell of rotten meat. The smell though wasn’t what sent a cold chill right through Jaskier’s bones, but the screams muffled by the water hitting the rocks. Wasting no time, with his palms sweaty and a knot in his throat, Jaskier climbed off Roach and began to ran in the direction of the screams. Dodging branches and trying hard not to trip and fall, the bard arrived at the most horrifying scene he ever witnessed.

A tall figure with big hooves and bent knees as a goat, had Geralt in one giant palm with long claws dirty with mud and blood, and little Jimmy in the other hand. Its eyes glowed as it roared and threw its head back knocking a few branches off with its long, wood like antlers, and straightening its hairy back. As Jaskier slowly raised his eyes up to the creatures head, little Jimmy continued to scream and kick his feet in the air. As if disturbed by the noise, the creature opened its mouth, revealing numerous long and sharp teeth and in one brutal motion, it raised little Jimmy further up and licked his face with a black tongue. Geralt saw it too and began to wiggle his shoulders, clenching his teeth. Jaskier had his eyes still on little Jimmy, who was now covered in the beast’s saliva, struggling to breathe.

A chill ran down Jaskier’s spine and weakened his knees when little Jimmy’s screams stopped. The creature bent its head and bit off the boy’s head, his blood spreading all over the beast’s face, then let the body fell on the grass. At the scene Jaskier gasped out loud and lost balance in his legs, attacking not only Geralt’s attention but also the creature’s. The ground trembled when the monster took steps closer to the spot where Jaskier was hiding behind a thin tree trunk.

“Jaskier! Fuck! Run, you idiot!” Geralt yelled over the buzzing in Jaskier’s ears.

At the sight of Jaskier the monster growled, and flexed its empty claw, which strangely enough gave the bard an idea. It wasn’t a good idea, and he could die at any moment, but he had nothing else.

“Hey!” Jaskier said raising his hands above his head and waving them, “Here, you ugly bastard! Come here!” he kept screaming as he began walking backwards. “Faster, shithead!”

Jaskier kept on screaming until the creature got disturbed by the sound as it did by little Jimmy’s screams and dropped Geralt, going full speed toward the source of the noise.

“Bollocks,” the bard whispered and took of running towards the river.

He could hear the trees being ripped apart and thrown behind him, his legs shaking along with the ground as he ran faster than he ever did. The sound of the water hitting the stones got louder and louder as Jaskier was getting close to the river. Once he reached it, Jaskier looked around for a way to cross it, but the water was too furious and the stones too slippery to jump on. But before Jaskier could think of a solution for his problem, the creature appeared from behind the broken trees and was approaching him carefully, letting its black tongue slip between its teeth.

The monster was getting so close, Jaskier could smell its breath on his face. It smell of rotten meat. All he could do was stand as still as possible and pray that somehow the creature would change its mind and not eat him. His eyes were squeezed shut when the monster suddenly stepped away from him and let out a high pitch growl. When he opened his eyes, Jaskier saw Geralt on top of the creature, trying to pull his sword out off the monster’s back. They battled with each other, causing a sword to fall from Geralt’s back and hit the ground. In its struggled to get the Witcher off its back, the creature smashed its back to a thick tree trunk, then shook its head as Geralt’s motionless body fell at the tree roots. The sword was still sticking out of the beast’s back and it seemed to cause it a lot of pain as it began to let out broken sound that could associated with whimpers.

Breaking from the trance he was in, Jaskier took hold of the sword that was on the grass and tried to control his breath.

“Fuck it’s heavy,” he murmured through his teeth.

The beast was now lying on its front, still trying to pull out the sword from its back, but could not reach it. Wiggling Geralt’s sword in his hands, Jaskier punched the blade through the creature’s throat, then immediately stepped back, letting go of the handle and tripping over, falling on his ass. Unable to growl anymore, drowning in its own blood, the beast remained still on the ground, with a claw in the river water.

Heart beating out of his chest, Jaskier snapped his head behind himself when he heart Geralt moan in pain.

“Fucking stupid bastard!” the Witcher cursed, slowly standing up, holding a hand at the back of his head. “How much of an idiot can you turn out to be? What in the devil’s name are you doing here? Are you trying to kill yourself? Bastard! Fuck!”

Sighing in relief that Geralt seemed to not have a concussion and rolling his eyes, Jaskier dusted off his clothes. “Glad to hear you’re alright.”

Geralt didn’t seem to enjoy his joke very much because after he took his swords back, he whistled for Roach and when the horse appeared from behind the trees, the Witcher pointed to it and turned his gaze to the bard, a heavy look on his face.

“Get. On. Roach.” He mumbled.

Jaskier frowned. “But-“

“I said get on the damn horse, Jaskier!” Geralt split between his teeth and Jaskier complied, not wanting to upset the Witcher even more, even though he didn’t know why he was so angry.

The ride back to the inn was made in silence, Jaskier holding on Roach’s mane as Geralt pulled her strings through the woods. When they arrived, Geralt explained to the inn keeper that was still serving at the bar about little Jimmy and promised to go the next day to get his body. The man nodded and thanked Geralt with a trace of disgust in his voice and regret in his eyes. Then Jaskier was quickly pushed up the stairs with one hand on his back. The door slammed shut the second they stepped in and Jaskier remained frozen in place. Geralt walked passed by him and began taking his armor off with his back turned to the bard. When he was only in a tunic and his light pants, Geralt turn his head to Jaskier and frowned.

“Aren’t you going to change? Your clothes are covered in mud.” He said then proceeded to clean his swords.

Clean, clothes changes and buried up to his chin under the covers, Jaskier watched the ceiling as he felt Geralt got in the bed beside him on top of the covers.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said after a few moments passed in silence. He could not bare it anymore.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” The bard said and turn his head to the Witcher which had his hands resting on his stomach and was looking up as if he could find answers written on the woods of the ceiling. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save little Jimmy.”

Geralt frowned before turning his head to look at the bard. “Who?”

Jaskier searched his golden eyes, but all he could find was pure confusion. And Jaskier got pretty good at reading Geralt’s silence. “Aren’t you mad the man died because of me?”

Geralt raised his eyebrows and parted his lips, breathing through his mouth. “How in hell was that your fault? Did you bite his head off?” Geralt muttered.

The bard paused for a second. “No, but–“

“Then it wasn’t your fault.” The Witcher said then turned back to look at the ceiling, breathing hard through his nose.

With his eyes stuck on Geralt’s profile, Jaskier fell back into his thoughts again. If Geralt wasn’t upset with him for little Jimmy’s death then why was he acting so angry. Maybe his head still hurt from when he was smashed against a tree.

“My head is fine. Go to sleep.” Geralt murmured and Jaskier snapped his mouth shut, unaware that he was thinking out loud.

Then why? Why was Geralt mad?

“Geralt,” the bard said once more. Geralt hummed again. “Help me out here. If you’re not mad that someone died, why are you mad?”

“I don’t care that the man died, Jaskier. It was his own doing for coming after me when I told him to wait somewhere far away.” Geralt said. “Just like it’s your own fault for seeking me after I specifically told you many times to never do when I’m hunting.”

His voice was turning into a whisper as he spoke the next words.

“You could’ve ended up just the same.”

“You were deaf of one ear, Geralt. When I found what kind of monster you were hunting, I got worried and… well, you know the rest. I’m sorry I broke your rule, but I’m glad you’re here pissed at me than dead somewhere. Good night!” Jaskier said, then turned on his side, facing the wall.

He wasn’t aware he was shaking with anger until Geralt asked him in a low voice if he was cold. Jaskier knew damn well the Witcher knew he wasn’t cold, but it was far easier to ask about that than ask about something more personal. And Jaskier was fine with that most of the time. He knew what he engaged in when he chose to travel with Geralt, but sometimes Jaskier felt like tearing up with all the feeling he was keeping lock inside. So, he just muttered a negative answer and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.

Long moments passed until Jaskier turned on his back again, infuriated, and tired because sleep would not take him. Sick of staring at the walls, Jaskier threw the covers off him and proceeded to get out of the bed, when he was stopped by Geralt’s hand capturing the bard wrist between his fingers.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t sleep,” Jaskier said and tried to free his arm. “I’ll go downstairs to get something to drink.”

It seemed that his explanation wasn’t enough for the Witcher because Geralt continued to hold his writs in his palm.

“Could you let go of me?”

Geralt shook his head and caught the bard’s gaze with his. Jaskier could not truly understand what that look meant, but for some damn reason Geralt didn’t want him to go.

“If I don’t go would you let go of my hand?”

The Witcher studied him a little then nodded. When he was back between the wall and Geralt, the Witcher finally let go of him and Jaskier folded his arms at his chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said after a while. Jaskier hummed. “Why are you mad?”

When Jaskier turn his head to Geralt, the Witcher was on his side, facing him. “Because you’re an asshole.”

“I’m an asshole for not wanting you to die?”

“No,” the bard said, letting his arms fall at his sides. “You’re an asshole for assuming I could let you die.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that would be the end of the conversation, but he was wrong. “When did you learn to use a sword?”

Jaskier sighed and turned on his side, facing Geralt. “Back at Oxenfurt. Let’s just said I had to learn how to handle a weapon.” Geralt nodded. “I’m really sorry I scared you,” Jaskier said no longer able to hold his words back, “But I can take care of myself.”

“You called a 10 feet tall monster a ‘shithead’ and then proceeded to run from it with no weapon or anywhere to hide.” Geralt added.

“I never said I have brilliant ideas. But it worked, didn’t it?” Jaskier smiled.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “It was a stupid idea. I don’t care that it worked. Don’t do it again.”

Laughing with a wide smile, Jaskier shrugged. “It’s nice to know you worry about my safety though.”

With a puff escaping his slightly parted lips, Geralt closed his eyes for a second and then opened them back up. “You value more alive than dead.”

“Many would disagree with you. But thank you, Geralt.”

And to all the gods that maybe watching over them, when the Witcher frowned and turn his beautiful face into his serious I-am-going-to-murder-someone face and asked in a grave voice “who”, Jaskier did what he trained himself many times not to: he leaned forward and pressed his lips on Geralt’s. His chest exploded at the gentle feeling of Geralt’s chapped lips on his and the heart in his throat skipped multiple beats.

In his euphoria, Jaskier didn’t realize that Geralt froze, then extended an arm which he circled around the bard’s waist to pull him closer. So, Jaskier didn’t question when he was pressed to Geralt’s warm chest, and he just did what he always craved to do. He shamelessly raised a leg and threw it over Geralt waist, pulling him impossibly closer as he ran his fingers along Geralt’s neck and jaw, feeling every muscle move as the Witcher kissed him back, until they reached the long white hair in which they got lost.

Geralt tasted like death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak. And a little like onion. Jaskier’s lungs ached because of the lack of hair, but he couldn’t stop kissing the Witcher even if he wanted to. Geralt was addicting, the feeling of him, his arms squeezing Jaskier flesh in his hands, his scent, his breath, all of what and who he was filled Jaskier’s heart and ruined it for anyone else.

At some point, Jaskier thought he felt Geralt took hold of his tunic and wrinkle it in his fists and his back, but the bard was busy to keep kissing him to mind. But when he ignored that, Geralt rolled them over, pinning Jaskier to the bed and breaking their kiss. Jaskier whined and tried to reach back, but Geralt cupped his cheek with one hand and hold him in place.

“Breathe,” was all that the Witcher said and held Jaskier’s gaze until the bards breathing evened out.

“Sorry,” the bard said, letting his arms fall from around the Witcher’s neck. “So –“

“I can teach you to handle the sword better than that. We can start tomorrow.”

“Holly fuck, Geralt” Jaskier exhaled as he looked at the serious look on Geralt’s face. “That’s the only thing you’re thinking about right now?”

“One of the things, yes.” Geralt said calmly.

“Do I dare ask what the others are?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said and Jaskier immediately knew that it meant ‘You could ask, but I’m not sure you’ll receive an answer.’ and rolled his eyes.

They fell silent after that, both lost in the short moment of pure peace. Geralt held himself above the bard, oh so slowly moving his head from one side of the other as if he wanted to memorize every curve of Jaskier’s face. The bard didn’t dare to try and kiss him again. This time there was a resistance in his heart that said maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to give in onto his desires and kiss the Witcher, but he couldn’t take it back now. So, he just waited, studying Geralt’s every move.

“Your heart is beating too fast,” Geralt murmured and Jaskier could only nod in acknowledgement. “You’re afraid.” Another nod. “Why? I won’t do anything to you.”

A smirk painted Jaskier lips. “That’s what I’m afraid off.”

What Geralt did next took Jaskier by surprise. The Witcher lowered his head closer to the bard and bumped their noses together before leaning down to bite and lick at the bard’s neck. Jaskier whimpered and his arms immediately wrapped around Geralt’s shoulders, keeping him there. Soft curses escaped his mouth when Geralt found all the right spots.

Before long, they were both naked as on the day they were born and tangled so tight Jaskier couldn’t exactly tell where he ended and Geralt began. It took many growls and frustrating reassuring answers for Geralt to let go and stop asking him if he was sure.

“Geralt, for someone who grunts all his answers, you sure are talking a lot.”

“I just wanted to –“

“No!” Jaskier yelled and switched their position, straddling Geralt’s tights. “It’s very simple. I am very, very fucking sure I want you to finally fuck my brains out, because I’ve waited for it for too damn long. Do you?” Geralt nodded. “Great! Now can you please stop asking me questions and let me love the hell out of you, you bastard!”

“Wait,” Geralt said and Jaskier truly believe he was going to slap the Witcher. “Love me?”

“Yes,” Jaskier simply said. “I thought that was clear.”

Geralt smirked and caught Jaskier’s hips in his hands, pulling him closer and capturing his mouth. The feeling of Geralt agonizingly slow sliding inside was better that Jaskier could ever imagine and he new right in that moment that he was a goner.

Geralt was moving slowly, grinding really, the head of his cock dragging against that gods-damn spot that made Jaskier see stars and stole the songs out from his mouth. His hands moved of their own accord, nails digging into Geralt’s chest, scratching as his back arched. He was shaving himself down, hard, onto Geralt’s cock, and Geralt’s hands flexed dangerously around his hips, and it’s all the warning he got before Geralt was planting his feet and thrusting up into him. Jaskier yelped and his throat began to hurt just the right amount. With a smooth move, Geralt flipped them over and a thrill ran through Jaskier’s veins. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s cock hard and hot inside of him so, he twisted his hips, the movement making him whimper. The Witcher was stroking up and down his sides, head cocked, watching him through those beautiful golden eyes.

Jaskier was rubbing himself shamelessly up against Geralt, arching his back, smearing the sweat on his stomach onto Geralt. The growl that Geralt let out in response went straight to Jaskier’s cock and he moaned, feeling flayed alive only with pleasure. Without a warning Geralt bit him, hard, right where his shoulder and neck met, like he was marking him and Jaskier came, nails striping up Geralt’s back.

Time melted away into a blur, hands and lips and teeth, as Geralt continued to fuck into him, fire exploding in his blood again and again. His voice grew hoarse with chanting Geralt’s name until one last growl escaped the Witcher’s mouth and his hands gave out.

“You’re quiet,” Geralt said.

He was on his back with Jaskier’s head on his chest as one of the Witcher’s hand smoothened the bard’s back. Jaskier hummed in response, nuzzling into the crook of Geralt’s throat.

“Jaskier.” Leaning his head back, the bard caught the Witcher’s warm gaze and waited. “Promise you’ll stay at the inn next time.”

With the truest smile Jaskier had, the bard caressed Geralt’s cheek with the back of his fingers and sighed content. “I love you too, Geralt.”


End file.
